


Me?

by Payson_Blinde



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Fluff, John's Language is John's Language I Can't Really Apologize, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Payson_Blinde/pseuds/Payson_Blinde
Summary: Smitty and John have been friends for years, always there for each other in ways no one else has been. Smitty, however, has kept quiet that he's been terrifyingly in love with John for longer than he can stand. After curling himself himself into a nervous ball of doubt all these years, today, he decides to speak up.





	Me?

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Tumblr post I can no longer locate and that kind of tears me to bits. It was a lovely drawing of John, asking "me?" If you happen to know it, let me know, I'd love to link it!

Smitty pulled his legs up onto the futon, opening up a monstrous bag of Doritos and watching as John set up the PS4. When Fortnite first came out, Smitty was distraught; he'd heard great reviews, but he didn't have a console. So this had become the Saturday tradition: Smitty brought food, John provided a PS4, and they split the shit-talking.

John was first up.

He had a rough start; the first house he came to was all but barren.

As he started to run back out, Smitty muttered, “Guy on your left,” before stuffing his mouth with popcorn.

John approached the door quietly, spotting the player crouched in a bush with a sniper rifle, looking into the window of another house.

“Gimme a chip,” John whispered, walking slowly toward the player. 

Smitty dug out a Dorito, holding it out to him. John opened his mouth.

“Really?” Smitty laughed.

“C'mon, I'm busy.” he insisted. Smitty rolled his eyes and put the chip between his teeth.

With a sharp crunch, John made the final step toward the player, and started bashing him with his pickaxe. Immediately, the player flicked and put him in the ground.

“Nice.” Smitty chuckled.

“Teach me then, sensei.” John sighed, handing Smitty the controller.

Smitty shook his head. “Go again, that was too fast,”

John turned toward him with a cocked eyebrow. “Damn baby, you gotta let me recharge,” he replied through a smirk.

“Fuck's sake,” Smitty laughed, brushing his cheesy fingers off on his pants and taking up the controller.

Smitty had a far better round, racking up a good six kills before landing himself in a 1 vs 3 for the victory. The team was perched on the top of their makeshift base. Smitty had full shield and basically nothing else, running dangerously low on ammo. John had half resigned himself to the M&Ms, giving constructive advice like 'ask if they're hiring', and insightful commentary like 'I always feel like eating licorice when I'm watching an execution'.

Between jabs of his elbow into John's side, Smitty constructed a launch pad, and started his descent down onto the base. He was able to gun down one of the players before they even noticed him, emptying all of his ammo to get him out of the game. As the other player was beginning to react, Smitty landed on top of his dead teammate's loot, picked up a shotgun, and annihilated him.

John nearly choked on his M&M, and gave a dark moan. _“Fuck me dad.”_

Smitty didn't have time to laugh; the last teammate was sprinting back up the base, Smitty picked up the rest of the team's loot, and started putting down floor traps, hiding near the edge. The last player wasn't quite so stupid, and stopped short of the top.

Smitty was very, _very_ quickly dying.

“The legend falls,” John sighed.

“Yup.” Smitty backed up off the edge, and as he fell, landed a headshot on the last player, and landed in a heap on the grass. 

John shrieked, “Holy _fuck!_ Take me now!”

Smitty laughed, reaching for a handful of M &Ms and standing up. “Want a drink?”

“I'll drink your _dick,_ ” John declared, stuffing his mouth with popcorn.

“ _Oo_ kay,” Smitty chuckled, pushing himself up and walking over to his bag.

When it came to food, John always went for cheap – but Smitty had seen the say he eyes those fancy-looking alien-fruit teas and deluxe-beyond-description chocolate; no doubt about it, John had expensive taste. Smitty wasn't made of money, but he loved getting John bottles and boxes of crazy things he'd never buy for himself, just to see his eyes go wide and whine, “You treat me so right papi,” or whatever bout of unambiguously sexual praise found his lips first.

Smitty passed him a slender, pink bottle – it was some ridiculously fruity concoction John adored. According to him, it was “an angel's semen, but he just finished like a year-long juice cleanse. And he was _devoted._ I mean he was more loyal to that juice than he was to his first wife.” Smitty tried not to think about it too hard and just passed him the bottle.

“Dude, just fucking marry me already,” John groaned, opening it and taking a long sip.

Smitty paused. He leaned back against the wall, thinking. He'd been friends with John for... fuck, maybe five years now? They'd met over Xbox, and instantly they just clicked. When Smitty decided he'd move to California for school, John picked him up at the airport, and Smitty had put off setting up his own place to stay with John for those first few days, seeing the town, playing video games in his basement, just talking late into the night until they fell asleep in their clothes.

John had looked out for him. He'd shown Smitty everything he knew about the city; the short-cuts, the social mine fields, every 24-hour gas station there was to see. When Smitty's car broke down and the tow truck was three hours out, John went walking into the middle of night, just to keep him company. He'd given Smitty two hundred dollars for rent that month when he barely had it himself, and was honestly confused when Smitty tried to pay him back. It took him three rejected attempts before Smitty decided to just leave the cash under the cereal and call it good. John had given him a look the next day, but knew better than to push it.

And when Smitty started making money, he loved spending it on him. At first it was to thank him, then it was because he was his buddy, but nowadays, it was just to see him smile. Sometimes it was little things: surprise candy because his favorite kinds were basically never in stock; that special vape juice he only got for special occasions; some clothing accessory that reminded Smitty of him – but sometimes it was something bigger; just last month he'd bought him an acoustic guitar, because John always said he wanted to learn to play. He'd actually gotten pretty good already - but even if it had just sat in the case gathering dust, it would have been worth the price just to see the look of shock on the man's face when he opened the box. 

Smitty wasn't sure if he'd ever have another friend like John. And that was why Christmas night had been so scary.

Smitty had been planning on going home for Christmas, but the flights had all been cancelled because of a blizzard on the East coast. He'd been really, really down. He'd only been in California for a month or so, and that frosty joy, thick and sweet in the air outside, was pushing him into a pit of homesickness and despair. He'd planned on just hiding out under the covers, waiting for the sun to rise so all the Christmas lights would turn off and he could just pretend it was just another day. But John wasn't having it.

John – mind you, he had to walk everywhere since he didn't have a car until about a year ago – he walked down to Smitty's place, banged on the door until he opened up, and all but dragged him to his parents' place. His parents had gone all out, decorating everything with candles and holly and playing music all night. His dad made this _delicious_ roast, and the whole house was like a warm little haven, safe from everything bad that'd ever happened in the world. The night started off bittersweet, but sitting there with John and his folks, laughing and eating and watching cheesy Christmas movies until they actually couldn't stomach them anymore, it was like his misery just lifted, like a fog that was burned away in a gentle flash by the glowing sun. He'd been hard-pressed not to stick around the next two Christmases, as well.

That night, after all his family had gone to bed and his uncle was snoring on the couch, John and Smitty stayed huddled under a blanket in the living room, watching videos on John's phone, stifling their giggles like kids. At one point, the video ended, and they were left in pitch black darkness for that moment. But John didn't click another one, or turn on a light – they just paused, sitting there, leaned against each other in the dark. 

Smitty could feel John's whisper on his cheek. “I've got a question," 

“Yeah?”

“Think you'll stay here?” he asked.

“Like, tonight?” Smitty asked, confused.

John's hair brushed his neck when he shook his head. “In California. When your school's done.”

“Oh. I... I dunno,” he breathed. He'd never even thought of it.

“Do you wanna go back?” John asked quietly.

Smitty shrugged with his free shoulder, as if it meant anything in that abyss. “I mean... I guess. Kind of. I lived there my whole life and all that. But work might keep me here.” John was silent, so Smitty continued. “I wouldn't mind, I don't think. I could get used to it here. It's a nice place, you know?”

“Yeah. I mean... I think it'd be cool if you stayed. But I'm – you know, that's your choice.” John murmured.

Smitty turned his head to face him. In orange glow of a distant streetlight, he could just see the shine of his eyes, the shadow of his hair. Feeling him lean on his side, warm and close, watching him with honest, gentle eyes, it seemed absurd to say he'd ever leave him.

“Yeah, I could stay,” Smitty answered, hushed beyond caution, as if the peace of this moment were as fragile as the air between them.

His dark veil couldn't hide John's grin, betraying his boyish happiness even as he replied, “It's whatever you want.”

Smitty nodded. And in that moment, all he wanted was to be right where he was. And maybe lean forward a little more. And maybe pull John closer. And fall asleep wrapped in his arms. And never move again. 

And that terrified him.

But it had been years since then. They'd been side by side all this time. They'd talked so much, and in all conditions: drunk, high, half-asleep, on a shit ton of anesthetic – John had apparently 'forgotten' to get his wisdom teeth taken out – and somehow, Smitty had never let it slip. Or if he did, John was too out of it to realize.

Smitty was hoping these feelings were purely a matter of John being his only friend over here, and always looking out for him, not really a matter of actually _liking_ him. He'd never even been interested in a guy before. Surely it'd go away in a few weeks. Or a few months. A year? _Two?_ It'd been three, and here he was, standing in John's apartment, watching him take slow sips of some pink potion he'd bought him, something twisting and fluttering in his chest, with the incredible urge to walk over and kiss the bastard.

Three years. Three years of worrying what would happen, of wondering what he would say, if he would be grossed out or laugh or kick him out or never look at him the same way again. He didn't know what to think. He'd brooded over it for so many sleepless hours, and it just didn't make sense. He'd dated girls since he was young, he'd never looked twice at a guy. It was a completely new brand of yearning. For once he didn't want to chase and prove himself and win; he just wanted to sit down beside him and rest his head against his chest and let their breathing slow.

Smitty watched him with a hopeless smile. John was the ultimate curveball. 

John glanced over at him. “You good?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

Smitty nodded, and brought one hand up to his hair. “Yeah, got a question.”

“Fuck,” John put the cap back on the bottle and turned toward him. “What's up?”

Smitty bit his cheek. Was he actually doing this? What was he even doing? He felt overly aware of his tongue in his mouth, the sweat of his palms, the restless wince of his toes. “How long have you been single?” he asked. Weird question.

John raised his eyebrows and looked up to the ceiling, thinking. “I guess... My last girlfriend and I ended senior year, so I guess that was three years ago. Maybe four.” Then he nodded. “Four, yeah.” he answered. Smitty remembered him talking about it. They'd been having problems for a while, it just took one of them getting the courage to start the conversation.

“Last girlfriend.” Smitty echoed quietly, not meeting John's gaze.

“Well, yeah, haven't dated a guy in the mean time.” John replied. “Just curious, or?” he inquired.

Smitty nodded automatically, lost and reeling. Where was he going with this? Should he even be doing this? What would he say? _Either_ of them? 

“You know I'd tell you if I was, right?” John asked slowly.

Again, Smitty nodded. If he was what? Dating? Or dating a guy? Smitty had no idea what he was doing, but he knew he was going to start choking on air if he just kept standing there. He grabbed a Coke from his bag and took a seat on the futon, and John started up another game.

They must've been playing for another hour or two before their next breather. Smitty had been playing like shit, he was so distracted. John had to have noticed, too; he'd been making stupid mistakes, his aim was all over the place – he just wasn't as alert as he usually was.

John got sniped mid-loot, and with a sigh turned to pass off the controller, finding Smitty staring at the wall, fumbling with his thumbs.

“Hey,” John prodded, poking his arm with the controller.

Smitty flinched, turning toward him with a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” 

John shrugged. “It's cool. You good?”

Smitty looked transfixed by the death screen, staring with an evaluative frown as he nodded.

John waited. “You sure? Cause I'm still holding this thing,” he remarked.

Smitty felt his face flush, and took up the controller, hurrying to start up a new game. He could feel John's gaze, heavy and pressing on the side of his face.

“You wanna talk about something? Seem kinda out of it,” John offered gently.

Smitty started to shake his head, but he couldn't commit to it. He could never manage to lie to John, even if just by moving his head the wrong way. Of course, that told John that there was something Smitty _definitely_ wanted to talk about. 

“C'mon, what's up? Something about relationships, right? Did you find someone?” John pressed. 

Slowly, Smitty came to nod, still half-devoted to playing the game and pretending nothing was happening. 

“Ooh. Okay, so what's the problem?” John asked. 

Smitty cleared his throat. “Problem is...” What is the problem? The biggest one is that now he thinks he's into someone else. “...Okay, well, it's a guy,” he began.

“Okay, so any _actual_ problems?” John questioned. 

Smitty had half an impulse to laugh and half to hug him, but the quiver in his lip and the ice in his hands kept him from doing either. “I don't wanna lose him as a friend,” Smitty explained slowly. He must have made three passes through every room of this house, he was so thoroughly tangled in this conversation. 

He saw John nodding in the corner of his eye. “Make sense. What are your chances looking like?”

Smitty's mouth dared a tense half-smile, considering it. He _did_ demand to marry him earlier that day. But that's just John, he offers sex to strangers on Xbox all the time, that's just who he is. 

He and John had talked about sexuality before while completely off their ass on weed they'd definitely underpaid for. John had said the labels and rules and all meant nothing to him, he'd go out with anyone he liked – it just so happened that he'd only dated girls. So... maybe there was some hope. 

“I think it's a fair 'maybe',” Smitty answered honestly, finally remembering to leave the house. 

“I mean in that that case, I'd probably be like, 'you ever feel going on a date, I'd be good with that.'” Then he shrugged. “But I'm a fuckin' dumbass about this stuff.”

Smitty stepped out of the building, and was instantly dropped by a guy with an AK. So he put down the controller, and turned toward him. “Hey John.”

John looked from the screen to him, confused. And Smitty reported with taboo confidence, “If you ever feel like going on date, I'd be down.”

John nodded. “Yeah, something like that. That could work.” 

Smitty grinned, and pushed his arm. “No, dumbass, _you_. If you wanna go out sometime, then we should.” 

John stared at him, eyes wide. His cheeks went pink. “Wait you mean – _me?_ I'm the guy?” 

Smitty nodded, smile wide. "Yeah." 

John's eyes were cautious. "You're serious?" he questioned. 

“I'm serious." he assured him. "What do you think?” Smitty didn't even have the headspace to be questioning himself, he was high on air right now, watching John as he began to fade red. All he could think was: he's happy, he's blushing - oh my lord, this could work.

“I mean – holy fuck, yeah, okay. Definitely.” he answered, nodding for a solid three seconds. Smitty couldn't hold down a laugh, covering his face for a second, hardly wrapping his head around what just happened. 

“Okay, good,” Smitty chuckled. John gave a warm, baffled smile, and another dark fog was burned away, replaced by the light shelter of a delirious joy.

Smitty passed him the controller with a grin. Before he took it, John looked over Smitty's face, murmuring, “Mind if I just...” and leaned forward to kiss him. Smitty knew he meant it as a peck, but he brought his hand into John's hair and pulled him close, and that was the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lord forgive me for my shitposts, and may my standards for this account rest in peace, unknowing to the fact they were futile and painfully short-lived.


End file.
